


Laundry Day

by Proxiide



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Depression, Implied/Referenced Abuse, M/M, Multi, Sad Ending, Suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-27
Updated: 2020-03-27
Packaged: 2021-03-01 09:01:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,948
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23348857
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Proxiide/pseuds/Proxiide
Summary: Inspired by a prompt by Saide_Banks on Twitter! Is very Angst(tm) beware.
Relationships: Papyrus/Papyrus (Undertale), Sans/Original Undertale Character(s), Sans/Sans (Undertale)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 17





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Is sad all the way through but can do follow ups if anyone cares (which I doubt, this is badly written.) Play Angel of the Morning by Juice Newton if you really want it to hurt.

Being rejected is painful, but it's even worse when you're rejected by a soulmate. But, it's more painful when that soulmate is an accident and they want nothing to do with you. (Inspired by Saide_Banks on Twitter!)

He never really liked doing laundry. Too many stains. And it...wasn't going well. Already it had been a few weeks since that day happened. He didn't blame the monster for behaving the way he did, the shadow doubted that anything would ever really bring the skeleton closer and it was all a big, fat, mistake. He could feel it, the skeleton with the golden tooth was close to Sans. The scary one was called Red, as far as he remembered. Red and Sans were closer then Sans would ever be with him. It physically hurt when they were close to each other, they were meant for one another and he wasn't supposed to be there. Sans didn't like being around him, he could tell, just the way the short skeleton behaved, how he spoke. It was obvious, he knew it. Red knew it too.

The two skeletons were upstairs, snuggled together, enjoying a movie. To get away, he'd gathered all the laundry in the house and went into the basement in order to get it all done. Though he had no intention of finishing, unfortunately for the lazy skeletons. It wasn't out of his own laziness, or even that he was mad about doing it. He gently tucked the paper under the bottle of detergent, specially bought for Sans' sensitivity to certain chemicals, and stepped back. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes trying to think a bit more clearly. He gently reached into his red sweater pocket, took his phone and set it onto the running dryer. It was loud but that didn't impede the sleeping skeletons upstairs thankfully. He reached back into his pocket and pulled it out. It was wrapped in a grey cloth which he carefully moved before pulling it out by the hilt. It was fairly ordinary, if not a bit rusty, it looked like an ordinary hunting knife. But it was special. Even just holding it caused the chain connecting them to sing nervously.

He tried to reason with himself but his mind quickly destroyed his reasoning. All the dates, all the hushed whispers, all the painful tugs. It was just...not possible. He wasn't wanted. He wasn't needed. He had no reason to be there. Sure the risk was high, but it wasn't like anyone would want him even if he did survive. Who would want a defective soulmate? Who would want someone that did something as disgusting as he had? Stealing a soulmate was a horrible thing, and that's just what he did. Even if it was the fault of a gust of wind. It wouldn't ever feel right, and he knew this. He wedged himself between the utility sink and the washer which was running same as the dryer, causing a loud gushing sound as the other vibrated. The light was turned off, so he doubted anyone would check for a while, but to him that was fine. His soul came forward, the upside down lump of life was dull in contrast to the pretty blue chain that was hooked onto the own dull grey of his own. The color drained not long after it happened. Now the green didn't even shine through anymore. It was just...grey. One more thing Sans Sans wouldn't miss, he told himself confidently. Sans wouldn't miss him. This would make him happy. This would make everyone happy. The rooms wouldn't go quiet when he entered anymore, he wouldn't walk in at the wrong time anymore, he wouldn't wonder if the smiles were real anymore. No more angry side glances, no more cold nights alone, no more hiding during dinner, no more. He could feel hot tears welling up as a small, sad smile crossed his scarred face.

His hands felt unsteady, but he assured himself it was ok. Sans probably wanted this. Who was he kidding? Sans probably would've handed him the knife if he knew about it and said, "go have fun, kid" in his lazy voice. He laughed a little to himself. He'd miss that. But it wasn't his to miss. Red was aggressive, and several times made it obvious even he didn't want him around. Sure, Papyrus was pleasant and it seemed like even Edge didn't mind, but deep down he knew they felt the same. Deep down they both hated him just as Red and Sans did. He couldn't blame them though, he hated himself too. Before Sans he was getting better, but after...everything just hurt. It hurt to eat so he stopped eating. It hurt to talk to his friends so he just stopped talking to them. It hurt to move so he stopped getting out of bed. Sans didn't care at all, he never asked why he stopped eating, or why he never answered his phone, or why he didn't get up anymore. When he'd gotten up to get the laundry Sans just reminded him to get the shirts in the bathroom. He reminded himself how happy Sans was with Red, and imagined how happy they'd be when they woke up and saw their chains connected.

His gloved claws gently grabbed the dull half of the chain, pulling it closer to himself. It stretched all the way upstairs, partially limp but stretched around the corners. He could hear Sans snoring upstairs, he guessed Red was asleep too. His hand shivered and his heart raced and he felt lightheaded almost as the blade touched the gradient link in their chain from the inside.

A quick flick.

It was over.

The blue chain snapped away, disappearing up the stairs before a soft shockwave of magic came from a reconnection and there was a soft snort upstairs before the snoring continued. Good. It was done. He didn't feel the sting at first but it was too brief to really notice. It was sharp, then it turned dull and persistent. He looked down and watched as his chain rotted and fell off, turning into dust before they hit the floor leaving an inky mess of particles and dots on the cold concrete. He felt dizzy suddenly, losing balance he stumbled back and hit the wall with a soft thud. He quickly slumped to the floor as his legs gave out, leaving him in a wheezing heap on the floor. He sat there, watching as the last link fell off and turned to dust on his sweater before he watched as two cracks formed in the dull soul. They creeped like the shadows along the edge of his vision, soft clicks as pieces broke off and turned to dust.

In some grim way it felt right. It felt ok. His hand let go of the knife, or it turned to dust already, he couldn't tell. His soul began to crumble like a burnt cookie, a weird connection that made him smile almost. Almost. He heard his phone buzz against the metal of the dryer but felt no urge to get up and look. His eyes felt heavy and sticky, like he was crying. He was, he could feel the tears dropping onto his chest. But he was already falling asleep and couldn't care less, his last sight witnessing his sweater getting covered in inky black dust as the two upstairs continued to snore without a care in the world.

He never really liked doing laundry.

Too many stains. 


	2. Mourning After

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Days could be better for them.

The nervous typing was all that really filled the room Edge was in. He'd been typing most of the day by this point, trying to push away that gut feeling of absolute dread. It had been about three weeks since Sans and Red called, crying with finality saying their souls were finally linked and that they'd just woken up and they were connected. Of course, Edge was happy for them, the original connection was an accident but one he felt should've been a happy one. Neither Sans or Red were good housekeepers and they needed someone in their life to help them, though it seemed something was wrong. Something just felt wrong. The day before they called Edge had a fit during work, for a full two minutes he was slumped in the snow unable to breathe like his ribs were being crushed under a truck and he was immobilized the entire time. When he was finally able to get up something just felt so wrong, he felt empty in a way. When he met with Papyrus for lunch he looked so upset, rings around his sockets and fidgeting like crazy. He had a similar fit at work which left Papyrus unable to sleep properly for a week.

Edge was at home, he had off and had requested it specifically as he didn't feel right. He felt...upset, sick almost. The kind of sick you feel when you just know something is wrong, so horribly wrong. He hadn't eaten all day, he felt like he'd throw up if he did. Papyrus had gone to see Sans and Red that day himself, apparently they'd been neglecting the house like the slobs they were and hadn't texted most of the day. Edge was typing up an email to a friend of his in the guard, asking if they'd seen their friend. Ever since that day no one had seen him, none of his friends who he had been ignoring, none of the neighbors, Sans and Red hadn't seen him either, though Edge had a feeling Red was lying. He was stiff, avoiding looking Fell in the socket, shuffling his slippers. Edge pulled Red to the side a week ago and asked him but it only ended in a fight. Something just felt so, so wrong. He couldn't tell why. Sitting in the dining room, Edge felt he should've started dinner already, but he couldn't bring himself to divert his attention lest he become physically ill.

There was a loud boom from the living room, "EDGE!!!" Papyrus almost wailed, slamming the door behind him. Edge almost caused himself to fall over when he pulled his chair out so fast, but he managed to stumble to his feet and bolted into the living room, only to skid to a stop on the rug witnessing Papyrus's face twisted with raw emotion. It was a mix of disbelief and horror, his porcelain bone stained with orange as his hazy eye lights watched Edge. Clutched in his gloves was a red sweater, covered in dust and some sort of black charcoal...no.

Edge felt his sockets go wide, he couldn't move.

It didn't make sense.

It wasn't true.

Papyrus couldn't keep his sobs stifled properly, his glove shaking as he pulled a feather from the hood. It was that beautiful metallic blue Edge had come to love when it approached him, the golden eye on the large pillowy feather staring him down searing the tears into his sockets. Some of the softer downy feathers fluttered down out of his favorite sweater, turning into that inky dust on their floor. Somehow the delicate feather in Papyrus's fingers wasn't turning to dust but that didn't stop the horrified tears on the edge of his vision welling up and running down his face, leaving burning tails on his yellowed bone. Edge's steps forward were unsteady, but Papyrus met him in the middle and they collapsed together into a heap. The shorter skeleton gripped onto Edge with deathly vice, sobbing into his scarf and wetting the ragged fabric. Edge couldn't bring himself to make a sound, he just stared at the opposite wall, he hoped it was just a dream, a horribly awful dream, but it felt too real. The flow of tears felt too real. Edge couldn't hear anything, his soul felt heavy and weak, his head instantly felt like it was pounding as if a headache was creeping up on him. It took several minutes, but he managed to lift his heavy arms up to hold Papyrus, unable to tear his eyes away from the blank space on the wall. In some cruel way he could almost see the feathery monster standing there, the vantablack skin, those bright white eyes, those soft feathers. Edge could almost smell the rain he often smelled when the short monster came close.

He almost scolded himself. He'd seen how those eyes went dull, he'd watched as those feathers fell out, he'd tried to talk to him for so long. He should've seen it. He should've tried harder. But...now he couldn't. All the times he saw him, all the times he visited Red and Sans, and he never once spoke to him. In some cruel twist of fate, Edge couldn't recall his name in that moment, it almost felt wrong to want to know his name. In the close and raw emotional proximity he felt his and Papyrus's souls comfort each other, the chain connecting them felt weaker then before that day. It was connecting in his head. The only way Sans and Red connected...was because he broke the chain. But why? Why would he do this just to give them what they wanted? Edge had to stop himself, he felt the anger rising inside himself and he had to stop before he blew up at a fictional image that was watching him.

With the gentleness of a grieving mother, Edge gently held the back of Papyrus' head as his other gloved set of claws gently rubbed the back of the smaller skeleton's ribs as Pap clutched the dirty sweater close. They both felt an over powering attachment to the small monster. He was clean, he loved to mess with Edge, he and Papyrus shared similar obsessions, and when Sans and Red were over at times he would make dinner. At first he seemed happy despite the situation. But it seemed to fade. He seemed to lose interest in whatever he and Papyrus were obsessed with, when Edge would snap at him for trying to mess around he would become quiet and inverted, and it didn't take long for him to begin dodging dinner. Edge just chalked it up to him feeling upset with Edge but it seemed whatever he felt was much worse then he let on.

Edge sat with Papyrus like that for more then twenty minutes. It didn't seem like Pap could stop, but Edge needed to move to keep himself from more thoughts. He gently pulled Papyrus back and held the back of his skull, Edge leaned and gently pecked the smaller skeleton on the forehead before he leaned his own against Pap's. Edge couldn't offer words, he found his throat too tight do so, all he could do was gently hold Pap's soft and stained face as he hiccupped and sobbed quickly, holding the dirty red sweater to his midriff. Edge closed his sockets for a moment before he looked down to their souls, almost touching they had tails now. Edge had a broken link that seemed to refuse to fall off, the tips greyed and empty while the rest was his signature crimson. Papyrus had a full link, bright and orange, but half was that depressing grey. They'd both lost someone. Edge had a feeling he knew who he lost, but for Papyrus he couldn't tell. He didn't want to ask for now.

Edge had Papyrus lean his skull into the crook of his neck, moving his hands to the previous position as he turned his skull to look out the window. The sun was setting. He watched as the painted sky faded in a somber beauty, distant clouds soft grey dots against the sky. The lights were off, it was quiet, it felt right in this position. In a way, Edge knew Papyrus knew what they both lost. He was a dear friend, of them both, and it hurt Edge to realize he would never see them again.

Before, it would reset. No one really died. Not forever, at least. But this was different. It still didn't feel real, but it was. He was trying to grip onto the fact he'd never watch them come back through the front door, he'd never get another call from them again, he'd never see that soft smile again or feel a little sneaky punch on his ass or his chest, or spend hours trying to find his scarf wherever it was hidden again, never hear that excited squeal he'd do if Papyrus pulled out the disk set for them to watch, or that sparkly look in his eye when he finally found his pencil, never catch him drawing Papyrus or Edge himself again. Those few little moments that grew into something small had wilted, and Edge never bothered to water the wilting moments, and now they were gone, never to bloom into what they were meant to be.

He watched as those soft clouds drifted in the distance, the painted sky fading into darkness. He remembered reading somewhere that artists would paint the night sky when they died, but somehow the setting sky didn't feel like his work. It was the clear blue night, the little shimmering stars in the distance, and the bright gold moon that watched over their town that was his work. He watched that beautiful moon, and in a way caught himself believing it was one of his feathers floating high above them as if he could fly.

For now, Edge reminded himself, he just needed to hold onto Papyrus.

Tomorrow, he thought, they could do laundry.


End file.
